Caramel Mocha
by Esso
Summary: AU - "She wondered what kind of coffee he liked. She figured she would find out soon enough. They were going to have coffee together, the two people who had given up on happily ever after." Estonia/fem!Canada


**A/N: **This is a part of my ongoing high school/small town AU, even though this takes place neither when they are in high school, nor in a small town. I hope no one's too confused, but if you are I don't mind answering questions.

Wow. The parts look a lot shorter on here than on Word or dA. orz

(also posted on dA)

Oh. Miguel = Cuba, Mattie = fem!Canada, Allie = fem!America

* * *

I.

He was thirty-one and held the world on a string.

Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn't stop him from leaning back in his leather chair and looking out his office window high above the city skyline and feeling as if he ruled the world.

He liked to think he had snuck up on the industry from behind, having been inconspicuous even in his small town, and even more so at college. That had never stopped him, though. Nothing stopped him, especially now. He would smile because he knew that he was the only one from his town who'd ever made it anywhere worth going.

Sometimes he wondered where the others were, but the amusement faded before long. Why did he care what trouble Ivan and Natalia had gotten themselves into? He didn't. Why did he care if Allie Jones and Arthur Kirkland had finally resolved that sexual tension? He didn't. Why did he care that Roderich and Elizaveta were still as in love as they had been in the second grade? He didn't.

He was Eduard Von Bock, fifth richest man in the country, and he liked to pretend he ruled the world.

II.

Mattie Williams was a part-time rock star working full-time in a coffee shop. From 5 to 9, her best friends were the espresso machine, the songs in her head, and a caramel mocha for herself. Her agent always told her to quit working there, but she refused. She liked the mindlessness of pressing buttons on machines and she sometimes missed being the shy girl that no one noticed.

She was going on tour soon, and she was terrified. Tour was natural for an artist with a hit single, plus a top-selling album. Francis had always said she would fail. Sometimes she wished she had.

But then she would pick up her guitar or turn on the radio, and she would hear her own voice from the speakers and she would smile. She hoped Francis heard her, too. She hoped he missed her.

For a while he had come crawling back, day after day, until suddenly he stopped spamming her inbox and that was that. All that remained of her first failed attempt at love was the song everyone was singing.

_And all you'll have of me is my voice in the radio…_

She sang along with herself as she drove home, hoping that the song got stuck in Francis' head and he knew she was right. That's all far too many boys had.

Suddenly, she realized that that was all she had as well.

III.

Generally, stalking is considered rude. He was rather used to it, since he had his fair share of admirers (it wasn't his fault that he was so sexy!). But this time, it was an annoying pop/rock tune sung by a pretty little Canadian that he had forgotten ever knowing.

It wasn't his fault that he didn't remember Matilda "Mattie" Williams. No one ever did, at least not until her music was constantly shoved down people's throats. It was funny the way she seemed to be getting revenge for years of near-invisibility.

Although the peppy little single annoyed him to no end, "Radio" made him give a short, amused snort, at least the first time he heard it. It was for Francis – anyone who had lived within a thirty-minute radius of the two would be able to tell that. He hoped Francis would be able to, as well.

It was such a noble effort on Mattie's part, but, as he saw it, Francis wouldn't care. Even though the man would have inevitably heard the song, he would laugh it off because he was too busy collecting STDs.

He'd never had the chance to get any from Mattie, though. Now that he thought about it, Eduard admired her for that.

IV.

She only picked up the magazine because she knew the man on the cover. She felt herself blushing as the grocery store cashier scanned it, although he had a completely neutral expression. Even as she drove back to her apartment, she couldn't control her feeling of awkwardness about the publication sitting in the trunk like some sort of venomous reptile. When she arrived, she first unloaded her groceries far slower than necessary, and only sat down with her magazine when there was nothing left to do.

And there was Eduard Von Bock, looking at her over his shoulder, face set in a half-smirking, half-contemplating expression that combined to be something akin to attractive. He was a far cry from the quiet techie he used to be, this strange, strange man in his impeccable chocolate-brown suit and his mish-mash of snark and seriousness.

She flipped through pages of idiotic celebrity gossip – what a waste of trees – to find the main article, the one about the boy she had never bothered to get to know. There were more pictures and plenty of bad writing that informed her of one thing – this guy was incredibly wealthy, incredibly sexy, and incredibly single.

She rolled her eyes and threw the magazine in the recycling bin. At least she could put those trees to better use.

She thought better of it when she saw Eduard looking back at her with his half-smirk. She put it on the coffee table instead.

V.

At first, the phone calls and emails and other forms of fangirling were flattering, but he was fed up with them by now. Yes, yes, he had the dubious honor of being on the front of a grocery store tabloid, and, yes, he had _maybe_ gone to high school with this random girl, but that didn't mean he was interested in a relationship.

It was almost his policy to be single. He'd dated a few girls in high school, mainly to get back at Ivan and to prove his own skills in picking up hot chicks at the Apple store. He'd liked a few of them, been neutral on most of them. Yes, there were girls he'd felt especially strongly for, but she had been later.

He turned back to his computer. There was another message, this one from Anna Hawkins, an annoying cheerleader from high school who was asking: "hey ed wanna meet up sumtime lol that wud b fun :) i rly missd u u kno"

He thought she would've been over the atrocious spelling at this age. Alas, he obviously had far too much faith in the human race. He deleted the message and blocked Anna.

His secretary came in with his caramel mocha and he smiled at her, noting her blush as his stare lingered. She hurried away, quicker than normal, and he marveled at how women could run in such high heels.

When he went to survey his employees, he heard "Radio" playing from somewhere, either the sound system throughout the building or someone's computer.

It got stuck in his head, and it reminded him of someone. Not Mattie Williams of course. It just wasn't proper to be reminded of her.

No, it reminded him of the one relationship he had cared about, that had ironically been a ruse. Just as he told no one of that endeavor, he told no one about the new song on his iPod.

VI.

She was leaving for the tour in two weeks, so she quit her job at the coffee shop. It saddened her, but she came in every day for a caramel mocha and tried to smile at her replacement, a boy about her age. His name was Todd, apparently, and he would sit down with her during his break and they would sip coffee and talk about music.

Todd played guitar. So did she. He laughed and said they should have a jam session sometime. She laughed and agreed.

She knew it was a bad idea, but she also knew her luck in relationships couldn't get any worse, so what was there to lose? Francis was the epitome of a bad boyfriend, and she'd had loads of the lesser-but-still-evil kind.

She told him she was a rock star and he believed it, especially when he heard her sing. He played for her and didn't tell her that he was a rock star, because he wasn't one. He was an average guitar player, but since she was polite she complimented him and asked him to write her a song.

He said that she should write him one, since she was a rock star, after all. She said she'd think about it.

When she found out he had a girlfriend, she told him to look for his song at the top of the charts. She couldn't wait to add another name to the dedication of "Radio" that she would give from stage.

VII.

Mattie's music was everywhere. It was in his head, his heart, his penthouse suite. He was rich and famous and, as his brother's boyfriend would say, "like, totally fabulous."

It almost shamed him to listen to anything other than classical and classic rock. But there was something to be said about being able to put a face with the lyrics, and knowing that they meant something other than money.

Now when he heard "Radio", he sang along in his head, thinking about that one girl. Of course she was connected to Ivan. He was sure the two were literally connected by now.

But he wasn't depressed by the thought. Instead, he was dancing around his designer kitchen in a pair of holey jeans and an old summer camp T-shirt, singing off-key. "_And all you'll have of me is my voice in the radio!_"

He had her other songs too, but "Radio" was his favorite. There was something about it that made it feel honest, because it was. He wondered if Mattie was like that in real life – strong and nonchalant and completely independent.

It was always the quiet ones you had to look out for, after all. Just look at him. Him, who had snuck up on the world of technology and taken it by storm. Oh, and Mattie, who had gone from the invisible girl that Francis cheated on to a rock star.

He wrote her an email – very official and stiff, infused with all the vocabulary that came with a half-finished master's degree and a brilliant mind. It would blow anyone away, make any of his many, many admirers faint. It was the pinnacle of exemplary email-writing, a shining beacon in the dark world of Internet grammar.

He ended up deleting it all.

Instead, he sent:

_Hello, Mattie. This is Eduard Von Bock. You know, the techie from high school who was constantly stalked by Ivan?  
You wanna have coffee when you get off tour?_

VIII.

She sat in the back of the tour bus with a cheap spiral notebook and a chewed-on pen. Her guitar was in its case on the seat beside her, ready if the notes struck her. Her manager smiled at her and ruffled her hair. He liked it when she wrote songs, because then he got paid.

Actually, she was writing a song for her stepsister's impending wedding. She had secretly hoped that the wedding date would fall during the tour, but Allie would have none of that. The younger girl had her heart set on having her stepsister present, and there was no resisting Allie, the most obnoxious girl on the face of the planet.

For some reason, the muse didn't strike her. What could she write about her sister without being cliché or overly insensitive? She was tempted to write a generic love song, but that would definitely never cut it.

So she sat in the back of the tour bus with her guitar and her notebook and an unwritten wedding song. She'd given up on having one of those for herself. The resignation was a peaceful thing, she knew. She liked it. Because of it, things like Todd could roll right off her shoulders.

She could blame Francis and Gilbert and Miguel for her thick skin in those matters. She could also blame Francis for her musical success, since he was what led her to put pain on paper and sorrow into song.

Honestly, she could blame many people, but she chose not to. It was easier to forgive and pretend to forget, to smother yourself in music and stardom and caramel mochas.

When she looked at her magazine of Eduard Von Bock, she wondered what kind of coffee he liked. She figured she would find out soon enough. They were going to have coffee together, the two people who had given up on happily ever after.

Fairytales were something Allie believed in, anyway.

IX.

The final stop on Mattie's tour was his city. He bought tickets, excellent seats far enough away from the fans but close enough to see and hear the music adequately. He sat in his box before the show, sipping his champagne and feeling foolish, being at a concert meant for teens.

His bodyguards were in the shadows at the back. He assumed they were glad to have gotten a free ride to a Mattie Williams concert. They got a free ride to many things. He liked them well enough. They didn't speak and were paid to follow orders. He enjoyed giving orders instead of following Ivan's. It was nice, holding his world on a string.

The lights dimmed and the crowd started shrieking. He rolled his eyes and held out his glass for a refill. A pre-recorded guitar riff started, and a much different Mattie Williams ran out onto the stage.

From what he could see, she still had wavy blond hair, but no glasses to cover her violet – or were they blue? – eyes. She was wearing tight jeans and a shirt with some sort of graphic on it. He couldn't see and didn't care.

She started singing, and of course she was amazing, although he could barely hear her over the screaming crowd. The noise irked him. He wanted to listen to Mattie, not the fans.

He could still tell that she moved and sang with a confidence he had never seen during high school, at least when he noticed her. The closest she had ever come was when she broke up with Francis in the middle of the cafeteria and inadvertently started the greatest food fight since seventh grade.

Finally, the endless music stilled, and with it, the audience. "Now," Mattie said, her cute Canadian voice strong and in control, "I'm sure you all know my song 'Radio'." Here the crowd screamed again, and he could almost hear the smile amid her laugh. "Well, I want to thank someone for that song. He inspired it and the rest of my career. Without him, I wouldn't have written the music that got me to this stage tonight."

He held his breath unconsciously, hoping she would say the name. His grip on his glass tightened. Thankfully, the bodyguards couldn't see it in the dark.

"Therefore, I would like to thank Francis Bonnefoy, and anyone else who has the honor of being my ex-boyfriend. I hope you enjoy my voice in the radio." He could see her grin as she let out one powerful chord from her guitar and sang straight into the microphone.

X.

The wedding was nice. Arthur stayed sober. Allie stayed relatively quiet. The dancing was mildly enjoyable. She sat out the couple dances, of course, but for all the others she was practically the only one on the dance floor.

She sang Allie a nice song about how much she loved being her sister, something vaguely sentimental that made the expressions of all the mothers in the crowd melt. However, she got tired of dealing with the idiots who didn't know she was Mattie Williams. It was like explaining over and over again how you broke your leg, only far worse.

Francis found her when she was standing by herself in the garden outside the pavilion. It was getting dark, and there was a slow, romantic song playing now. She knew Allie and Arthur and Roderich and Lizzy and however other many couples from their high school (and Allie and Arthur's respective colleges, plus parents) were in there dancing.

"Mattie," he said, standing beside her, arms crossed as he stared out toward the man-made lake.

"Francis. I thought I told you to stop chasing me."

"I am not chasing you."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"It's been almost ten years. Are you still going to let that come between us?"

"Yes."

"You're pathetic, Mattie."

She didn't bother to listen, because "Radio" started playing, so she went back in and danced with all the "like, totally fabulous" single ladies.

XI.

He'd be meeting Mattie for coffee tomorrow, and he was mildly excited. He stood looking at his walk-in closet, pondering what to wear. Not a suit, of course, but that left casual clothes, and he was far less comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt.

He had just decided on what to wear when the phone rang. He ran into the kitchen, and his heart dropped as he read the caller ID. _Natalia Braginski. _Despite his better judgment, he picked it up.

"Eduard," she said. "I need your help."

The high and mighty Natalia was asking for help? God forbid.

"I know you helped Ivan and I when I was pregnant… pretending to be my boyfriend and all, so I was hoping-"

"I helped Ivan. I owed him." The "not you" was implied.

"So I was thinking that perhaps you could aid us again," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. She was too much like her adopted brother. No wonder they were perfect for each other.

"No."

"Eduard…" Her voice instantly grew icy. If this were high school, she would've had her knife out.

"No, Natalia."

"Why do you refuse? Have you really gotten over me?"  
He bit his lip. For all his singing and fake believe, he still remembered her far too well. Had he gotten over her? It had been so many years…

"Answer the question, Eduard."

He knew that if he agreed, Natalia would have the country's fifth richest man in the palm of her hand. And she would use him. Any form of love would be a ruse.

If he declined…

"I answer no."

He hung up and set the phone down. He turned up his state-of-the-art stereo and danced around his kitchen to his favorite song. He was having coffee with Mattie Williams tomorrow.

"_And I don't want you, I don't need you, I can't wait to live without you. I can be so much greater without you by my side. You say I'll fail but just you wait, 'cause someday… all you'll have of me is my voice in the radio!"_

It was something like freedom and something like ecstasy, something bittersweet and joyous at the same time, kind of like a caramel mocha.


End file.
